


a look contains the history

by summerstorm



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Comment Fic, F/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-04
Updated: 2012-01-04
Packaged: 2017-10-29 00:07:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/313667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summerstorm/pseuds/summerstorm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Perhaps I wanted to see you," Sybil said, more easily than she had any right to. Or maybe just as. "Did you think I'd avoid you simply because you asked me to run away? It is not so easy to get rid of me."</p>
            </blockquote>





	a look contains the history

**Author's Note:**

> Written for stormiesthaze, who asked for Sybil hanging out at the garage mid s2.

Tom heard Sybil before he saw her. She was still wearing her nurse clothes, and her comfortable shoes made flat sounds as she walked into the garage.

"And what are you hiding from this cloudy afternoon, Lady Sybil?" he asked, watching as she approached him. The words were courteous; his tone not so much. These days, he continually told himself it was not a bright idea to behave impatiently, if only for the sake of his job, which was perhaps the only reason he got to enjoy Sybil's company despite the way she had reacted to his proposition.

"What makes you think I'm hiding from anything?"

Tom wiped his hand on a torn cloth and gestured at his surroundings.

"Perhaps I wanted to see you," Sybil said, more easily than she had any right to. Or maybe just as. "Did you think I'd avoid you simply because you asked me to run away? It is not so easy to get rid of me."

"Easier than it is to keep you," Tom mumbled; it was loud enough that Sybil must have heard him, but he was glad when she didn't pursue the subject further.

"You're working on something," Sybil said instead, stepping closer still. The question was prompted by a motor he'd only just laid out on a table. There was grease on his shirt, he realised now, and dark stains on his jeans. Sybil's eyes didn't follow the direction of his; they stayed trained on the motor.

He cleared his throat. "The engine didn't sound right. I'm trying to trace the problem."

"Tell me about it," Sybil requested, with a good portion of the enthusiasm with which she'd talked about politics, and becoming a nurse, years before. Still, Tom couldn't help turning to look at her—couldn't imagine she'd be interested in this, or that he'd be good enough at explaining the basics so she'd understand. She huffed a laugh, and added, "I know a little something about mechanics. I grew up with a large library and quite some spare time."

"Next you'll tell me you're a fast learner, too," he teased, and she narrowed her eyes at him; her smile didn't fade.

"As a matter of fact," Sybil said. "Do not underestimate me, Branson."

"Never have, my lady," Tom said without thinking, and then, "let me fetch you a chair."

Sybil shook her head. "No need."

"All right," he said, and went back to work, this time narrating what he did for her benefit.


End file.
